


Predicament

by CelestialArcadia



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale to the Rescue (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Other, POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Third Person Limited, non-graphic mention of eye trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialArcadia/pseuds/CelestialArcadia
Summary: Crowley finds himself stuck in a predicament he has no hope of getting himself out of. That doesn't mean that someone else won't have better luck, though...A companion piece to "Whatever You Like Best," but can be read standalone.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 61
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Predicament

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to my fic "[Whatever You Like Best](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628167)." You don't need to have read that to enjoy this, I don't think. (Although I'd certainly appreciate it if you checked it out! It's a bit shorter than this fic.) After I wrote that, I was possessed with the idea of doing something from Crowley's perspective and wrote a few hundred words of this, but didn't get around to finishing it until now.

“Fuck,” Crowley says.

He is trying to make sense of his current situation and failing miserably.

Crowley’s body is weighed down by heavy chains. His arms have been tied together and chained to the nearest landmark, a large stone monolith that seems to stretch up forever. (The Tower of Babel would be jealous.) He is sitting very close to a fountain which he suspects, but is unwilling to confirm, is filled with holy water. (The stream seems to be mocking him. How can a liquid be mocking? What does Heaven put in that stuff?) Otherwise, all he can see is an endless expanse of sand in all directions. It reminds him a bit of the desert outside Eden, but worse. Much worse.

It’s bright here. So bright. Too bright. He doesn’t even remember Heaven being this bright, but where else would be as bright as this? The light here burns his eyes. It’s like looking directly into the sun, but a million times worse, and he doesn’t even have to look directly at it for the light to burn.

He tries to miracle himself away from the situation. He tries to wrench himself out of his restraints. He tries to wrench his restraints away from the wall. He tries so much.

Nothing works. Something has removed his ability to perform miracles. Maybe there’s something mixed in with the metal chains, or there’s something in the air. It doesn’t matter.

Crowley is trapped, alone, in some mystery place that’s melting his eyes.

“Fuck,” Crowley reiterates, because nothing matters anymore. He resigns himself to...to...whatever’s about to happen. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t think he cares to know.

It’s freeing, in a sense. No more obligations. No need to shoulder the burden of hope. All the tension in his body seeps out of him at once as he flops down onto the sand. All that’s left is for him to lie back and wait for—

“Oh, _Crowley_. This absolutely will _not_ do.”

“Buh?”

Crowley opens his eyes and looks up. The burning light is being blocked out by a familiar figure.

“Aziraphale?”

The angel smiles down at him, and Crowley can’t help but return it, even if his own grin is weak and uncertain.

“Yes, dear. I’m sorry I didn’t see you earlier.” Crowley is about to protest, say that he doesn’t need to apologize for _anything_ , that he’s just grateful for the company, but he’s interrupted before he can get a single word out. “Just give me a minute and I’ll have you right out.”

Aziraphale bends down and grasps the chain on Crowley’s right arm. He braces a foot against the tower and pulls at where it’s connected, dislodging it with little apparent effort, then repeats the motion for the other arm.

Crowley gulps.

“Alley-oop,” Aziraphale says cheerfully as he picks Crowley up in his arms. “Let’s get you somewhere nice. This is no place for a demon to be.”

Crowley is a bit taken aback by this development, if he’s being honest. But he doesn’t have the energy or inclination to question anything, so instead he wraps his arms—weighted down as they are—around Aziraphale’s neck and rests his head on a shoulder. As it turns out, being bridal carried is surprisingly pleasant. Or maybe it’s just Aziraphale. He’s not sure which and too tired to think much about it.

After a few minutes (or a few hours; it’s hard to tell when all the scenery is the same) of walking, Crowley begins to relax. He notices for the first time that Aziraphale is dressed in his normal ancient suit. Nothing about this situation makes sense, but for some reason, this is what gets Crowley to question the ridiculousness of it all. He pulls a bit at Aziraphale’s sleeve. “Bit overdressed, aren’t you.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale stops and looks down at himself, as if he was unaware that he’d been wearing anything at all. “Oh dear, I suppose so. How foolish of me. Will you close your eyes for just a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley mumbles.

When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he notices is that Aziraphale is no longer wearing a shirt.

“Hi,” Crowley says, because all his other words have been replaced with unintelligible sounds.

Aziraphale replies with a small laugh. “Hello. We’re safe now. I’ll put you down—”

Crowley furrows his brow. “Don’t wanna,” he replies reflexively.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t remove the shackles if I’m holding you. But I promise I’ll hold you as much as you’d like once they’re off.”

Crowley grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “you’d better” as Aziraphale gently lowers him to the ground. Finally Crowley takes the chance to take in his new surroundings. They’re in a clearing in a grove of some sort; Crowley can feel soft grass under his skin. Strangely, he can’t tell what time it is. It clearly isn’t daytime, but he can see too well for it to be night, and the sunlight that would be here in dawn or dusk is absent. But he’s grateful for it. He can rest his eyes, still sensitive from the strange blinding light earlier, while still being able to see Aziraphale.

So he watches as Aziraphale gingerly picks up one of Crowley’s arms, carefully examining the metal cuff while making sure not to jostle him too much. Aziraphale mumbles something then puts his arm down. He takes a deep breath as he grabs both sides of the shackle’s loop and _pulls_. It takes longer for it to come apart than it took for him to detach the chains from the tower, but Crowley is still impressed that he’s doing it at all. When he switches to the other arm, Crowley starts to think that maybe this whole thing wasn’t so bad after all, if it gave him the opportunity to see _this._

“There, all done,” Aziraphale says after Crowley’s arms are freed. He gently examines each wrist. “Good, it doesn’t seem like there’s any damage.” Aziraphale smiles down at Crowley and Crowley wonders what he did to have an angel, to have _his_ strong, beautiful, kind bastard of an angel look so sweetly at him. “Now, I made you a promise.”

Crowley says nothing and just scrabbles up into Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale holds Crowley against his chest; Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, savoring the feel of soft skin and the faint scent of tea. “Angel—Aziraphale,” Crowley croaks, “I thought—I thought I was gonna—was gonna—”

“Shh, dear. I know. I know.” Aziraphale cards a hand through Crowley’s hair, the rhythm and touch grounding him. “But that’s in the past. You’re safe now, and I’m here for you. I love you, Crowley. Please don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Crowley says. “Promise.”

They stay like that for a few hours, or a few days, or a few years; it’s hard to tell, and Crowley doesn’t really care.

* * *

When Crowley wakes up, he’s not in the grove, but he’s not in the desert either. He’s in Aziraphale’s bed. He blinks up at the ceiling a few times.

 _Oh,_ Crowley realizes, _it was a dream._

Even though he’s alone, Crowley feels a strong, unmistakable sensation of being _loved_. It’s unfamiliar, and he hopes it never goes away.

He grins with satisfaction as he saunters down to the bookshop.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you'd like, you can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CelestiaArcadia) (18+) and [Tumblr](https://celestialarcadia.tumblr.com).


End file.
